No Followers
I love to cross through the virgin forest
As I cut the branches to open spaces to pass through
I know that no one was there before.
I'm the first.
I love to walk through the sinking mud
I follow no one.
It holds true for white snow
That's spreading up to the North Pole
I don't follow.
But as I look over my shoulder
I see no one
But empty footstep marks.
May 15, 2011